


Sisters

by sanctuary_for_all



Series: In A Better World [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Scene, And actually present something close to what the real reality of the situation would be, Because no matter how much you resent a family member, Especially if you've all gone through hell, Family Feels, Gen, They're still family, Trying to give these two women some credit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: The pack survives.(A complete rewrite of Arya and Sansa's storyline in 7X06.)***NOW WITH ADDITIONAL CHAPTER***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess I'm writing "Game of Thrones" fanfic now. I feel like I'm probably going to regret this at some point, but watching these two in 7X06 hurt my writerly instincts badly enough that I had to do something.

The pile of missives didn't seem to grow any smaller no matter how long Sansa spent dealing with them, and naturally they all required Jon's _urgent_ attention.

Giving up for the moment, she closed her eyes and sagged back against the chair. She wished for the thousandth time Jon would just come home, either to stay or at least give her the authority to deal with all this in more than just a stopgap measure. She _didn't_ want to take power from Jon, no matter what Arya thought, but the delicate balance of holding power for someone who couldn't even be bothered to _be_ there was absolutely exhausting.

She shot upright when she heard the door open, hurriedly schooling her features to the most alert, in-control look she could. She tensed when she saw Arya approach, her expression hard and bearing so like a soldier's that it always made something inside Sansa ache. She and Arya had never been close, at odds from the beginning over the vastly different lives they'd wanted for themselves, but the cool fighter who had replaced the little spitfire she remembered too often seemed like a stranger.

Now, that stranger dropped a note on the desk as others might a dead rat. "Littlefinger is trying to turn me against you."

Of _course_ he was. Jaw tensing, she picked up the note and saw that it was one Cersei had forced her to write. Then she looked up at her sister's face, hard and implacable, and decided lying would only drive the wedge between them even deeper. "Is it working?" she asked instead, bracing herself for the inevitable accusations.

She was surprised, then, when Arya simply made a dismissive noise. “Either he’s an idiot who doesn’t understand what it means to be invisible, or he knew exactly what he was doing and assumed he was leading little Arya Stark around by the nose. Whichever it is, it’s clear he’s not worth listening to.”

Sansa watched her sister’s face, trying to find something there she could read. “But you accused me of trying to steal power from Jon. I would think you’d see this as more reason to mistrust me.”

Arya went still, giving Sansa her own long, searching look. Then she leaned forward, hands on the desk, and spoke in a low voice. “I will challenge every _single_ decision you make if I believe it to be the wrong one. I will continue to defend Jon against your ambition, since he isn’t here to do it.”

“He always was your favorite,” Sansa murmured, something between resentment and grief rising up inside her chest. She hadn’t been anyone’s favorite.

Something complicated flashed across Arya’s expression as she straightened. “But Littlefinger isn’t a Stark. We are.” For an instant, there was something almost fragile in her eyes as her voice quieted. “The pack survives.”

Sansa’s throat tightened, and she had to clear it before she could trust her voice. She gestured with the note, desperate to shift the topic of conversation. “Where did you find this?”

“He had it tucked in a special little compartment he had made under his mattress.” Arya looked smug. “Useless to protect anything but this one, single note. He might as well have had it framed.”

Sansa’s lips flickered upward. It would be nice to have someone she could complain about Littlefinger with. “I’m sure he considered it.”

Arya’s smile was a touch too wild to be comforting.  “Maybe we should wait until Jon gets back to behead him. I’m sure he’ll want to see it.” Then, catching Sansa’s reaction on her face, her brow lowered. “You’re not planning on beheading him.”

She hated, _hated_ the way Arya could make her feel so defensive. “He’s... useful." She bit her tongue against the more detailed explanation, resenting that Arya didn't trust her judgment. "I can convince him to do things if he thinks he’ll curry favor with me.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a traitor, and he’s convinced he has you wrapped around his finger!”

Sansa’s shoulders tightened. “Well, he doesn’t,” she snapped. “I see through his machinations as clearly as you do. But there are things that need to be accomplished that cannot be done with a blade!”

Arya opened her mouth, clearly ready to shoot back a harsh reply, when that same unreadable look from earlier flashed across her face. Then, slowly, her breath hissed out between her teeth.  “I don’t envy you that.” She looked away, something almost lost in her expression. “Sometimes I think the blade is all I understand anymore.”

Sansa’s chest tightened. “Arya....” Her voice faltered, wanting to comfort but not at all certain what would do the job. She’d never found words to be terribly comforting, herself, and she suspected Arya would feel similarly. One point, at least, they had in common now.

She took a deep breath, trying to imagine what Arya _would_ find comforting. “When the time does come to kill him, I promise you can do it,” she offered. “If we formally execute him, he’ll just take the opportunity to make a speech.”

Arya went still, considering it. Then she adopted a put-upon expression that seemed a touch too theatrical to be genuine. “I will _try_ not to kill him before you wish it,” she said finally, and it occurred to Sansa suddenly that Arya might be trying as hard as she was. “But I can’t promise more than that, especially if he keeps looking so smug in my presence.”

Relief made her lips curve upward again. “It’s the only expression he has.”

Arya wrinkled her nose a little. “Pity.”

She turned to go, and that should have been enough. The crisis had been averted, and Sansa still had any number of duties she needed to worry about before the day ended. But there was a yearning in her chest she didn’t recognize, a sudden, wild desire to not let her sister slip away again, and the words were out of her mouth before she knew the thought had even formed. “You would make an excellent Queen’s Hand, Arya.”

Arya went still, turning to look at Sansa with a newly intent expression. Sansa pressed her lips together, cursing that she hadn’t been able to keep hers closed. They’d had a moment where they weren’t snapping at each other, but now Arya would think that Sansa was trying to win her loyalties away from Jon. She _wasn’t_ , and even if she was it wasn’t as part of some complicated power play.  

But sometimes, she _yearned_ for someone she could talk to.

“Never mind.” Sansa straightened, projecting as much regal seriousness as she could. “There are only two queens I know of, and I have no interest in losing you either to Cersei or this dragon queen Jon’s so fond of.”

“I’ll go to Cersei eventually, but she’ll be dead before she knows who I am.” Arya’s brow furrowed as she watched her sister’s face. “I would argue with you. Constantly.”

Sansa gave Arya a wry look. “If Ser Davos is to be believed, that’s the Hand’s job.”

Arya’s lips flickered upward. “I will let you know if Littlefinger attempts to stir me to insurrection.” Then she hesitated only a moment before leaning forward in a brief bow that somehow seemed miraculously free of irony. “Lady Stark.”

As Arya slipped from the room, Sansa blinked hard against stinging eyes and returned to her work.


	2. Chapter 2

_This_ was how you followed someone.

Wearing one of the faces in her collection, Arya pretended to be taking care of the horses as she listened to Littlefinger talk to Brienne of Tarth. She seemed disgusted by him, which was a credit to her intelligence, though Arya could also tell that the knight was unsettled by the youngest Stark sister. Still, it was clear there’d be no betrayals from that front, and Littlefinger’s tone suggested he was beginning to realize that as well.

Which may prove ill news for Sansa’s protector.

Carefully finishing her task enough not to be noticed, she slipped away and reclaimed her appearance before going to find her sister. She was with Father’s statue, staring up at it with a kind of open grief that reminded Arya of his execution, and something deep in Arya’s chest ached. She shut it away under the ice, the same way she did anything inside her that still bled.

Still, she stepped back and cleared her throat to announce her presence. “Sansa.”

Arya watched Sansa reassemble herself, pulling on their mother’s dignity and bearing the same way others would a cloak. “Arya.” She swiped a hand across her cheeks. “Did Littlefinger speak to you?”

“No.” She stepped forward, moving to stand beside her sister. “Instead, he’s trying to convince Brienne that I’m a danger to your life.”

Sansa made a dismissive noise. “She’s sworn to protect both of us. No matter what he says, she won’t raise a hand against you.”

“I believe Littlefinger understands that,” Arya acknowledged, watching Sansa’s face. “Which means she’ll be most useful to him dead.”

Sansa smirked a little. “It would be entertaining to watch him try.”

Arya shook her head. She could acknowledge that Sansa knew a great deal about politics, but this was Arya’s world. “Brienne is good, but she thinks like a knight. Littlefinger would send assassins – knives in the dark and poison slipped into her food. She’s not prepared for that.”

Sansa sobered. “We could warn her.”

Arya hesitated, trying to explain. “You have to… think a certain way, to watch for those kind of attacks. Brienne does not.”

Now Sansa was watching Arya, her gaze intent enough to suggest she was trying to see beneath the surface of her mind. Arya let her look, as aware as Sansa was that they had to re-learn each other.

Just as she was starting to realize she had to re-learn Jon, who was still miles away and had not written for weeks. She told herself he had important work to do, but the people of Winterfell were getting restless. Sansa had told Jon this in the letter she’d sent – Arya had secretly read it to be sure – and yet he hadn’t even sent a reply.

Finally, Sansa let out a breath and nodded. “I’ve been called to King’s Landing for a summit. I’ll send her as my representative.”

Arya nodded, her mind already whirring with plans to sneak into Brienne’s retinue and follow her there. A summit would be the _perfect_ time to strike at Cersei, since her focus would be on the visitors she _knew_ about and not—

“Thank you,” Sansa said softly. “I know the two of you don’t care for one another, but Brienne is valuable to me.”

Arya closed her eyes briefly. If she left now, Sansa would be alone with Littlefinger.

Frustrated by how strongly that thought held her in place, Arya’s voice was tense when she spoke again. “Surely this is enough to counteract whatever usefulness you feel Littlefinger has.”

Anger lit Sansa’s eyes. “I truly wish it was.” She pressed her lips together, then looked over at her sister. “The Knights of the Vale are loyal to him. Without them, we cannot hold Winterfell.”

Arya hesitated. She hadn’t planned on sharing her secret with her sister, but she also couldn’t deny her a potentially necessary weapon. “What if I could solve that problem?” she asked carefully. When Sansa shot her a skeptical look, Arya cleared her throat. “Did you hear about the recent death of the Frey family?”

A grimly satisfied look crossed Sansa’s face. “And celebrated it, but I don’t see how that—” She stopped suddenly, eyes widening. Then they narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

Arya reached into her pocket, lightly touching the mask she still carried. The man the face had originally belonged to had never worked for Winterfell – the staff here were blameless – but was generic enough to be useful. “Turn around.”

For a moment, Sansa looked as though she would argue. Then she turned. “Unless you pull a dragon out of your pocket, I don’t see how you’ll convince me.”

Arya didn’t say anything as she pulled on the face, adjusting her voice to the same one she’d used outside with the horses. “You can look now.”

She could see Sansa freeze, all her muscles locking in place. Then, oh so slowly, she turned around and stared at Arya’s new face with wide eyes. “How?” she breathed.

“That’s a very long story.” She peeled the face off, surprised at how relieved she was to look like herself again. She met her sister’s eyes. “What’s important is that you know Littlefinger is more replaceable than you realize.”

Sansa just stared at her for a long moment, seemingly stunned, and Arya found herself bracing for whatever her sister was about to say. Not that it _mattered_ , what Sansa thought – she was used to her sister’s disgust, from back when they were children, and her horror wouldn’t be enough to make Arya regret a single person she’d killed. But… but….

Finally, Sansa let out a breath, closing her eyes a moment before opening them again. “I will keep that in mind,” she said quietly, then hesitated. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and squeezed her sister’s arm. “Thank you. For the Freys.” A shadow passed over her face. “I wish I’d had the skills to do it.”

When she’d left, Arya scrubbed her hands over her face to try and chase away the raw feeling inside her chest. When that didn’t work, she sealed it back up under the ice and went out to rejoin the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [original fiction,](https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks) my [blog,](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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